


Baltimore, 2015

by drinkbloodlikewine, whiskeyandspite



Series: Mistletoe - Holiday Gifts from wwhiskeyandbloodd [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Christmas Fluff, Innuendo, Kissing, Lots of Cursing, Lots of kissing, M/M, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-07 23:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5474486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/pseuds/drinkbloodlikewine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Will lifts his hand, the same one he used for a rude gesture, now freshly kissed. He thumbs across his knuckles to feel the warmth lingering from Hannibal’s lips, and his cheeks grow hot. What a pretentious ass. What a pompous affectation.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>What an entirely extraordinary man, in every way - even the very questionable ones.</i>
</p><p>Visiting the boys from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4067635">Provenance</a> for the holidays...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baltimore, 2015

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by our beloved [Noodle](http://noodletheelephant.tumblr.com/)!

"Fucking Christ."

Will stops just inside the door, regarding those who regard him, wide-eyed, including a mother who slips her hands a moment too late over her son's ears.

"Fuck, I mean - shit," Will sighs. Behind him, the noisy string of bells that startled him clatter to silence against the door. "Sorry, just - he can't hear anyway," Will tells her, earning a narrow look. "Kid's got earmuffs on."

She's unimpressed and Will doesn't blame her, heart pounding thick and clumsy as a moose at full gallop in his chest. He dodges past the line of last-minute coffee addicts and those who come during the last hour to buy up discounted baked goods, and digs himself deeper into his coat, shuffling to his table to wait.

There's a snort from someone in the line when Will folds up the little _Reserved_ sign. Because of course, of course the asshole who nearly jumps out of his skin over the sound of cheerful sleigh bells is the same asshole who swears not once, not twice, but three times in front of children, and is of course the asshole with the private table.

Or the asshole who sits there anyway, whether they know it's his or not.

Will decides to leave his thoughts at 'just an asshole' and unshoulders his bag to wait for Hannibal to finish his shift.

He finds a cup of coffee before him in short order, regardless of the line, and when he looks up, Hannibal kisses him deep and soft against his lips and smiles when he pulls away. Will’s blush has never quite stopped being so bright every time Hannibal kisses him, despite the years - goddamn nearly two years - of being together. He does manage a smile back, though.

“Busy day?”

“You’re very easily startled,” Hannibal tells him warmly, lifting his eyes to the door and the bells that hang above it. “I’ve missed you today.”

Will licks his lips and laughs, just a little sound but genuinely pleased. He doesn't comment on the mistletoe beside the bells. They just kissed anyway, and surely will again.

"I missed you," he admits, almost rueful but not unsmiling. He lifts Hannibal's mug- warmed fingers to his lips and brushes a kiss across them. "Painfully busy today, in the way that pain is cousin to pleasure."

Hannibal lifts a brow but Will continues with little more than a snort.

"Holiday gifts do wonders for book sales," he explains.

"That doesn't sound painful."

"It wouldn't be, if they came in, picked something easy to reach, paid, and left again."

"Working on your customer service skills," Hannibal muses.

Will snorts again, but he kisses again too before releasing Hannibal's hand. "Like you," he says with a squint. "I guess using the world's loudest bells to scare the piss out of customers will leave them thirsty, won't it?"

“Oh, they’re hardly that bad,” Hannibal says, just as someone walks in and jerks a little from the volume of them. Hannibal’s eyes narrow in delight and he tilts his head at Will. “Emma decided to add some merriment to the cafe. I rarely celebrate so… brightly.”

“It’s nice,” Will admits, looking around at the rest of the tasteful decorations filling the small space. There are people lined up to the door again, and although the girls working the tills are doing admirably, it’s clear that Hannibal is needed back on station. Will looks at him with a sigh. “Go,” he tells him. “I’ll be here, the asshole at the reserved table when people are lining up around the block.”

“You are my asshole, though,” Hannibal reminds him, his grin narrowing his eyes in pleasure. “So you will keep your table as long as you continue coming here.”

"So about thirty more minutes, then, with that thing going off."

Hannibal runs his fingers through Will's hair, tugging a little when Will leans feline into his touch. They part with a shared look that makes Will's heart stumble again. He doesn't bother to pretend he's not watching Hannibal's ass as he goes. He does pretend not to notice the sway Hannibal adds just for him.

This time the bells make Will choke on his curse before he can even spit it out.

He skims through his messages as he waits. No, I don't have that one. Yes, I have that one and no, you can't. Yes, come by tomorrow and I'll hold it for you. Bev, bring eggnog to help me finish up all the bourbon.

Gradually the line wanes, once Emma turns the sign to closed. The patter of voices and kitchen sounds, the hiss of the espresso machine and clatter of coins in the tip jar begin to quiet. Will stands, when Hannibal insists that he can clean up, and the others should go.

They wish Will a good night, and he returns the kindness, locking the door behind them.

"Want me to help wash up?" He asks Hannibal. "I want to get screwed and sleep as soon as possible."

"By all means," Hannibal says, "and on all counts." Working the espresso machine to pieces with his sleeves up to his elbows, Hannibal's forearms flex, muscle and vein pulling taut. Will watches, makes a helpless sound, and heads towards the back.

Then he stops, eyes above the door to the back.

"Another one? You're a sadist."

“Oh, not just one.”

“Hannibal.”

He shrugs, bringing the back of his hand up to swipe at a loose strand of hair as he grins at his partner.

“Emma is very thorough.”

“Bullshit, this is all you,” Will laughs, reaching to just touch the little plant with the tips of his fingers before passing through the door. Rolling up his sleeves as he goes, he prepares to bury himself in dishes until he can fill the little washer and have them all done for the morning shift.

Hannibal won’t be opening. He’ll take a late morning and take his time waking Will up.

He shivers at the thought.

He listens as Will hums disapproval at the water. He listens as Will curses at the dishes. He listens as rancor settles to peace and Will works as hard as any of the employees Hannibal pays handsomely to keep his cafe in good order. For as much as Will grouses about everything from the wind blowing a little too hard to how his sock has slightly skewed and he can’t walk straight, the one thing he never complains about is hard work. Meeting people, perhaps. Wooing customers, certainly. But when it comes to cleaning, moving things, organizing, cataloguing, he loses himself in his focus.

It’s virtually the only time - outside of the sheets - that he does.

“Where are they?”

Hannibal stops his own work, brow raised as he glances to the kitchen. He can just make out the curve of Will’s back and his plush bottom, jiggling a little as he scrubs. Touching his tongue to the center of his lips, Hannibal returns to wiping clean the espresso machine.

“Where are what?”

“The other mistletoes.”

“If I told you, that would ruin the surprise.”

Will laughs, dry, and curses once.

“Besides,” Hannibal says, “you’ve not paid your dues on the last.”

“My dues,” snorts Will. “I’m wrist deep in filthy dishwater. My _dues_?”

“I don’t make the rules, Will,” Hannibal tells him earnestly, flipping the towel over his shoulder and looking his machine over. Satisfied that it is pristine, Hannibal strides into the kitchen, watching Will still bent over the sink, though there are far more clean dishes, now, than dirty ones. Without a word, Hannibal comes up behind him and nuzzles against the back of his neck, pressing a hot kiss just against the ticklish spot behind Will’s ear that makes him shiver and turn his head a little into the touch.

“You’re not done yet,” Will tells him. Then, a beat later, he asks hopefully, “Are you?”

“Hardly,” murmurs Hannibal. His breath stirs the fine hairs at the back of Will’s neck and he shivers again, shoulders rolling a ripple that carries all the way down to push him to his toes.

“With the shop, Hannibal, the fucking - the cafe.”

“The fucking, and the cafe,” Hannibal agrees. “I’ve hardly begun.”

Will snarls a curse behind his grin, nearly dropping a slick plate as he sets it aside. “Maybe you should focus on the latter, first. You know. Since I’ve already paid my dues.”

Hannibal just bites his earlobe gently as he pulls away, tugging it enough that Will groans again, but he doesn’t distract his partner more as he goes about the rest of closing. He packs up the remaining pastries from the window for the shelter nearby, the sandwiches will be remade in the morning, and he will bake something new to display when he gets in in the afternoon.

He wipes down the cabinet and counters. He cleans the windows with newspaper before drawing the curtains. He sweeps the floors. All the while, Will puts round after round of dishes into the machine, setting the finished trays aside to dry for the morning. He wipes down the kitchen and washes his hands properly. He takes up some containers still on the central counter and carries them to the walk-in, putting them where he assumes they will go.

When he leaves the space, he hears Hannibal's pleased click of his tongue, and looks up.

“Oh, come on.”

Hannibal just leans against his broom and crooks a finger for Will to come nearer. “I don’t make the rules.”

“You do,” Will exclaims. “Not only do you make them, you’re making them up as you go along. I already did this one,” he says, pointing upward. Hannibal is unswayed, brow raised, and Will changes the finger with which he’s pointing before stepping closer.

No part of Will doesn’t want to kiss Hannibal. Every part of him spends every waking moment - and many sleeping ones, too - wanting nothing more than to press against him, mouths and chests and bellies and hands. Were they at home, he’d be aching to be pressed into, too, by Hannibal’s deliciously thick - 

No. They’re not home. And Will is willing to be fucked many places and in many ways, but over the counter of a coffee shop is not one of them.

He comes closer anyway, languid steps, far too slow to be reasonable. His smile widens as he nears, until he forces it to a very serious expression indeed. A hand on his hip, Will licks his lips apart.

“Well?”

Hannibal steps near, one step, another, and ducks his head as he takes Will’s hand and kisses his knuckles. It’s so bloody gentlemanly, so archaic and yet so entirely Hannibal that Will can do nothing more than sigh heavily and bite his lip as Hannibal continues to lavish his knuckles with soft lips and a teasing tickle of tongue once in a while.

When he pulls back, he winks, just a slow, deliberate thing, and then he steps away to put the broom where it belongs.

Will lifts his hand, the same one he used for a rude gesture, now freshly kissed. He thumbs across his knuckles to feel the warmth lingering from Hannibal’s lips, and his cheeks grow hot. What a pretentious ass. What a pompous affectation.

What an entirely extraordinary man, in every way - even the very questionable ones.

Will turns as Hannibal returns. He switches off the light in the kitchen but stops, finding Will’s hand raised against his chest. Wordless, and entirely pleased with himself, Will lifts his eyes to the mistletoe.

“I think that’s two,” he observes. “If we’re playing by your rules. Which you don’t make. Except that you entirely fucking do.”

Hannibal sets a fingertip to Will’s lips and smiles when he kisses against it, but quiets. He must have had a stressful day. He’s talking quickly, swearing more than usual, twitchy, ready to do the dishes - which at home he leaves in piles in the sink. Hannibal sets another fingertip to Will’s lips, another, until his eyes are barely open and his breath trembles. Hannibal leans in to kiss against his own hand, fingers between them, smiling when Will whines his protest.

Then he ducks his head and presses a hot kiss to Will’s jaw, hand still holding against his mouth to keep him quiet as he explores this familiar territory with soft lips and deliberate hot tongue. He sucks enough to leave a mark, Will is sure, just above where his scarf will lie, at the sharp end of his jaw, and then pulls back.

“Home?” Hannibal asks, eyes half open and smile crooked in his pleasure. He peels his fingers free of Will’s lips one by one to hear his answer.

“Please,” Will says, nicely. Sweetly, even. Because there’s nowhere he’d rather be, and no one he’d rather be there with.

He goes to gather his things, coat and scarf over one arm, bag over the other shoulder. It’s just a quick jaunt to the car and that’ll be warm in minutes, so he doesn’t bother bundling. It’s not as if it’s because he’s in a hurry or anything. Not as if he wants all of his clothes removed as quickly as possible and to be strewn bodily across the first available surface.

Nope. Definitely not that.

And he’s definitely not thinking about it at all as he walks directly into Hannibal’s back, where he’s stopped in the doorway with a hand on the lights. A chill wind shivers Will when the door cracks open, and he stares at the back of Hannibal’s neck, looking upward slowly, slowly…

He sighs, laughing, as the bells clatter and stir the mistletoe beside it.

“You’re exhausting,” he murmurs fondly.

“You love me,” Hannibal tells him, and Will can’t argue that. He does. He turns obediently to stand before Hannibal and the older man bends to take his lips with his own again - finally another proper kiss.

Will shivers from the cool wind outside but he doesn’t move, not beyond setting a hand to Hannibal’s cheek to hold him close, then the other, hefting his scarf and coat up against his shoulder as he does.

It’s dark outside, and cold, and they will most likely go to Hannibal’s house instead of braving the roads to Wolf Trap, and Will could want for nothing more. Hannibal pulls back and noses against Will gently, eyes closed and entirely content to be this close with him a moment more.

“I didn’t think you one for traditions,” he whispers, referring to the little plant that has had them on their toes in the most silly way all evening. Will’s brows lift and he laughs, breath pluming grey and fading as he tucks his nose against Hannibal’s throat.

“I couldn’t go around breaking rules, could I?” Will says, smile widening. “Or maybe you’ve just misread me. A clever ruse to lure you into a false sense of security.”

“Oh?”

“Oh,” Will agrees, wrapping his free arm around Hannibal’s neck and sinking into a deeper kiss. Not a due owed, not a debt to be paid to man or mistletoe, but in happy revelry to celebrate their nearness, even in such a silly manner as kissing in doorways. Their lips snare closed and part wide, heat shared between open mouths and warm tongues. Will steps forward and Hannibal back, and as they pass the threshold, the bells clatter loudly and Will nearly chokes.

Not on his tongue, either.

Hannibal hums a note of disapproval and steps back just enough to lock the door. He brings a hand to his lip after to check for blood, giving Will a narrow-eyed look of mischievous delight when he finds none there. He could have. It was a very sharp nip.

“Do I need to train you to get used to bells?” he asks, amused, slipping his arm through Will’s as he walks them to the car.

“I can think of a clever place to put one that would make me learn to salivate at the sound of them,” Will observes, startling Hannibal enough that there’s a break in his stride. “A particularly depraved version of Pavlov’s dog.”

“Will,” Hannibal chastens him, turning to give Will a look only to find the other biting his lip with brows raised, completely innocent.

“You’re the one who mentioned training, not me,” Will shrugs, but not without a meaningful downward drift of his gaze.

It’s rare that Will can make Hannibal blush. He’s delighted to see that dusky darkness spread rosy over his cheeks. He’s downright smug about it, really, smiling wide as he slips into the passenger’s side when the door unlocks.

It’s a short-lived victory when he sees the goddamn mistletoe hanging from the goddamn rearview mirror. When Hannibal opens his door, Will is laughing, helpless, into his hand, unseating his glasses to press his fingers against his eyes. Without a word, Hannibal takes his seat and tugs the door closed, starting the car to get it warm. Will finally lets his hand drop and regards his partner with rueful pleasure.

Hannibal simply shrugs.

“I don’t make the rules.”


End file.
